Eye of the Beholder
by Ollen70
Summary: Dalton suffered due to the loss of his eye and the dignity and grace he once possessed. But the changes that take place because of that loss were deeper than he - and Queen Zeal - might have feared.
1. Days so long past

  
Ollen70: I don't really know what prompted this. I don't think there's another story like this online, so that fact might have something to do with it. Plus, I've been having some serious problems with my right eye, and a friend told me jokingly I'd look okay with one of those black patches on it. The more I thought about it, the more it donned on me that I'd look way too much like Dalton, especially when my hair gets a little longer than it is. I guess one thing led to another, and here we are. Hope you like it.  
  
  
One more time, for you wonderful people who didn't know this already, Chrono Trigger, and the places and characters therein, are not mine. It's a shame, I know, but life's just like that sometimes.  
  
  
  
  
Eye of the Beholder  
  
Chapter One - - Days so long past  
  
He looked in the mirror for a long while, his fingers hovering over the patch It had been a very long time since he'd taken it off, though the sight of it didn't bother him as much now as it did when the incident had first taken place.   
  
Dalton could barely remember the moment part of himself had been lost. That was to be expected, he supposed. Who honestly wanted to hold onto a memory like that? Of course, it didn't really bother him the way he'd always felt it should. Most heroes always claimed they could recall every part of the injuries they'd sustained, but Dalton had thought it a vain and purposeless pursuit. If he'd been given the opportunity to remember everything about the blade that had pierced his face, he wouldn't have taken it.   
  
He lay his hand over the patch. It had been so long since he'd done this - the pain was near, as it always was. Not physical pain, of course. This wound hadn't caused him that kind of pain since he'd received it. Rather, it was painful to look at his own reflection now. No self respecting enlightened woman would give him more than a cursory glance before looking away in disgust or pity.   
  
Further the patch came, revealing flesh that hadn't been touched by light for nearly two years. Just a bit more...  
  
There it was. Not a gaping hole, like he almost would have preferred. The fateful battle that had been the deciding factor in the last great uprising of the already-oppressed Earthbound against the Enlightened, sealing their destiny as the slaves and burdens of Zeal, had cost him much as well. Once Dalton had been carried off the battle field by the new king of Zeal himself like a hero for his deeds, he woke alone in a cold room. His lacerations, spidering across his face and chest, had all been sewn neatly with a fine white thread that would leave no deep trenches in his flesh when they healed. He had been fastidiously cleaned. His long, blonde hair had been very carefully braided, resembling woven gold in a thick trunk lying at his side. There had been only one thing wrong. As try as he might, he could only make out half of the world. The rest was dark, and his mind throbbed whenever he tried to move.  
  
He remembered still the way the sleet had pounded on the windows of the palace - a strange thing at that time, since the clouds were not generally so high as to rain over Zeal. It was odd that the day was very much the same now, as if the sky remembered as well as he did what had taken place.  
  
It had been the darkness and the rain that had indirectly horrified him the most. Usually, looking toward the window would have been a comforting thing. Warm sunlight would have poured through, making him feel less afraid. This time, the thick sleet had so blackened the day that, instead of the outside world, all he could see was his own reflection. Never, no matter how hard he tried, would he be able to forget the all-consuming terror that had gripped him then. He'd never seen the creature that looked back at him.  
  
In place of his left eye was a round orb of pure cut crystal. In anyone else, Dalton would have actually found it beautiful. It was a perfect parody of an eye, its retina a deep midnight blue - without a pupil - that didn't come close to matching the color of his right. In many ways, that was best. He'd much prefer to let the world know that the eye had been lost and replaced instead of living his life with one that looked real but never moved nor allowed for any emotion or expression.  
  
He hadn't been able to tear his gaze from the window pane. He raised his hand and the disfigured creature did the same, cradling his cheek in desperation and despair. Tears streamed down one side of the face only - the other side lanced in pain as the salt reacted to the not-yet-healed wound.  
  
Peering into the mirror before him now, he thought of Belthasar. How he'd raved and sworn at the old man! It was the guru of reason who'd created the beautiful eye. Even the guru didn't have enough skill to enable the bit of stone to give him sight, but he could improve the wound cosmetically, and had thought Dalton would want it that way.   
  
All Dalton wanted was to be as he had been in the past. Neither Belthasar, Gaspar, nor Melchior would do that for him, if it had been in their power in the first place. He accepted that, as Belthasar did his anger, only smiling sadly when the enraged general screamed at him.   
  
The Queen ignored the entire event. She was more than content to treat Dalton as if he were exactly the same person as he had been before the battle. When she did deign to mention the happenings, she surrounded her description of it with such apotheosis that one would think Dalton himself had won the battle single-handed. It was her insistence that kept him from resigning his commission and retiring to the city of dreams to lose himself. Yet her favor could only bring him so far. She could brush off his loss easily, but he would never fully escape the glances of the others in the royal courts.  
  
The king was not so sanguine as his lady wife. He often took Dalton aside, managing his old friend like he was made of glass instead of enduring flesh. The general and advisor found himself wondering if that had been why he'd chosen to forego Belthasar's gift, preserving his flesh with its absence.  
  
How strange, the things humans hold dear. No two had exactly the same morals, when everything was said and done. Most of the enlightened would have been pleased to bear the crystal eye if it had been they who'd been in his place. He didn't really understand them, just as they couldn't understand why he would accept a piece of animal hide when Belthasar had offered him something much finer. Of course, they valued beauty in a different way than he did. Dalton, for all his eccentricities, valued the beauty of the truth. His leather patch was the truth. The empty socket was even more true, and so he didn't mind looking into it, finding that if he looked close enough into the mutilated part of his face, he could still see the last remaining pieces of his soul.   



	2. Pain in many different shades

Disclaimer - All I own of this is the dialogue and the general storyline. The characters and settings don't belong to me.  
  
Chapter Two - - Pain in many different shades   
  
  
Dalton was not the only one who remembered those events following the Earthbound revolts. Zeal sat quietly in her chambers, the infant Janus wrapped in an embroidered blanket in her arms. Dalton was indeed very different following his seemingly swift recovery. Looking out the window nearby at the drifting sea of clouds, Zeal allowed herself to blend with them and be overtaken.   
  
Zeal watched the man at her side surreptitiously. There was no sense drawing attention to herself, but since he was in front of her and to her right, she was confident he couldn't see her anyway. Before the incident, he'd talk to her kindly. Always with respect, of course, but never with the staunchness she received from any of the other Enlightened. It was easy for her to see why the king had been his fast friend for so many years.  
  
Now, he rarely spoke or smiled. There was no need for guards - imagine, an Enlightened attacking HER. After all, no Earthbound could operate the Skyways, since they only responded to the presence of magic - but he stood before her throne and watched the doorway whenever she was in the chamber. She used to retreat to this room to clear her thoughts or to listen to him speak idly about things of no consequence, but now his silence disturbed her. She spent more time at the king's side or in her quarters, out of sight.   
  
It was well known that she was to give birth to her first child in less than two months, and she was willing to attribute his odd protectiveness to that fact. She wasn't afraid of him, in any sense. He was only nineteen, though a well-built youth with golden features that lent him an unprecedented maturity, with magical abilities far inferior to her own - not for nothing was she the Queen of Zeal.   
  
In the years since he'd been promoted to high guardsman and then advisor to the king, Dalton had become like a son to her, though she was only perhaps ten years older than he. There used to be a certain child-like susceptibility to him that was quickly being replaced by suspicion. His right eye was rarely warm or friendly any longer, always fixed on some target or another, never allowed to roam freely for want of nothing. It took no sage to realize that Dalton had lost much more than an eye.   
  
  
Dalton had always kept his hair tied back neatly or in one thick braid. Zeal wasn't exactly sure when he first started wearing it loosely. It was down to his shoulder blades, hanging like a gold-brown curtain around him to shroud him even further than his own odd behavior had. Most Enlightened men wore their hair short, or down to their shoulders at the very longest, but Zeal was fairly certain Dalton stopped cutting his about two years ago. He was still immaculate as always, but it gave one the impression of a neurotic cleanliness now, if he sought by some means to wash away all that he used to be. His robes and cloak were always pressed to perfection, letting him stand out among the other Enlightened - which of itself was quite a feat.   
  
His outward spotlessness was not unprompted. It was obvious it had something to do with his injury, but Zeal was certain there was a great deal more about it that she didn't - and perhaps wouldn't - know. She and Dalton did not share the close relationship he and her husband did. They were kind acquaintances, but she wouldn't presume to call them friends. As time wore on, she found herself more and more on edge when he was near. In her mind, she proposed that he may not have changed at all and that she herself was the culprit, more distant because of his injury.  
  
Her own off handedness upset her. After all, she was not shallow nor shortsighted, compared to the many faceless people who surrounded her day by day. Just because he was different now was no reason for him to be scorned. In her resolve, she championed him when others made to whisper contemptuously behind his back, often unwittingly embarrassing him further than their hidden disdain could have. She made due reminding him that in her eyes, the wound was a badge of honor no warrior should be content to do without. It was with surprise and some degree of offense that she saw how he continued to draw away from her slowly.   
  
  
Janus fussed a bit in her arms and she sang to him softly, rocking him as she did. The changes in Dalton hadn't come all at once, but they had manifested themselves much more noticeably after the passing of the king, two years hence. The event was not long enough past for its memory to leave her without a tear in her eye for her beloved husband. She hugged Janus to her more firmly and he gave up his struggle, succumbing to the soft lullaby that played about her lips.   
  
That day, she stood in the commons of the Palace of Zeal, running her fingers over the leaves of a large plant that she loved. Its yellow blossoms had a hard fragrance that was not altogether pleasant, yet she would stand by it for hours, fascinated with it. All of the plants in the Palace were cared for by the guru of life. Aside from his interest in swords, the man known as Melchior possessed more knowledge of growing things than anyone else in Zeal. He'd grown this particular plant especially for her as a gift after she and the king were wed.  
  
You sent for me, majesty? Gaspar stood before her. The old man always gave the appearance of aloofness, though all knew he was far more shrewd than either of the other gurus.  
  
H..how is he? She did her best to keep her voice reasonably level. It wouldn't be fitting for her to show grief in so public a place. Gaspar smiled understandingly, mercifully overlooking the unstated supplication.  
  
Belthasar is with him. Melchior is on his way from Kajar with the best healers, but I fear that nothing more can be done. It was just like Gaspar, to be so direct. For all his colorful speech on anything that had to do with time or fate, Gaspar was as straightforward as a person could be. I would spare you this heartache. However, I know you prefer the truth to any comforting lie, so I will tell you decisively. If he lives through the night, I will admit to absolute surprise. I'll send a maid to tend Janus and sit with Schala myself. If it is your wish, you should be with the king until the last.  
  
Zeal had thanked him and gone, hating herself for her own reluctance. Part of her - a very silent, secret part - knew that the sight would be very far from pleasant. She wished she could stay away and so preserve the memory of her husband as the strong marble man she had always known instead of the dying, broken, disoriented form she knew she would find in his place once this day was done. That night proved to be one of the hardest of her life.  
  
Dalton was already in the King's chamber when she arrived. He stood when she appeared, not meeting her glance. The guru of reason remained seated on the periphery of the room, nodding his acknowledgement. He was too old and familiar to be bothered with formalities like bowing, and Dalton had apparently not thought to bow. Zeal didn't notice. Pulling the embellished brocade around his bed away very gently, she looked down into the eyes of the king and smiled softly, only to be met with a gaze that was wild.   
  
My darling... She whispered, reaching for his hand. To her horror, he pulled away roughly from her grasp.   
  
Who are you? He demanded, his voice hard and rash in her ears. Why do you lay your hand on me? Who are you? Zeal staggered backward, tears streaming down her reddened visage. Belthasar rose wordlessly and pulled her into a comforting embrace, away from the enraged monarch. Dalton only looked on in what she thought might be vague disdain, though his expression was the least of her concerns. The man she loved more than anything and the father of her children didn't know her name.  
  
Dalton's outward aloofness continued through the ordeal until the king's actual passing only an hour before the dawn. Zeal remained in the king's room that night, too exhausted with her weeping to journey to another room or even cover herself in the chair where she sat. Hers was the type of weariness that cannot be alleviated by anything but time. Sleep would have done her little good, so she didn't attempt it. In the morning, on her way to the council chambers to announce the death of the king to her subjects, she walked slowly. Any who saw her might have mistaken her gait for dignity; in truth, she didn't trust herself to move more quickly, fearing that she may run unto the highest point in the citadel and leap from it, or else burst into tears before the council and shame herself.  
  
Deep in this train of thought, she passed by the heavy door to the room she knew to be Dalton's. Several steps later, she paused and cocked her head. Deep, rasping breaths came from within, the kind that come after sobs have died away. She noticed immediately that his door was closed firmly, but she inched it open as slowly as she could, acutely aware that any sound would give her away, and that there was no dignified way to dash down a hallway to avoid being discovered. The door gave no sound though, and she was able to peer through the crack.  
  
Inside, Dalton sat at his bureau looking into a mirror, his one good eye inflamed. For a second she reeled and almost drew away - his fingers brushed over the patch he wore, but didn't lift it. If he had, Zeal knew she wouldn't have been able to suppress a gasp and would have brought his attention to her.  
  
Maybe it's better this way. She could only just make out his whisperings. At least the Queen doesn't make her pity so open.   
  
Not knowing what else to do, Zeal drew away from the door and turned back down the hallway, wishing she could explain to herself what it was she had seen.  
  
  
  
  
Ollen70: I think Queen Zeal is one of the most under-appreciated villains in RPG history, so I thought I'd bring her into this. Yes, the time line goes crazy. Blame the Chrono Trigger. Anyway, we'll see where this one ends up, but this definitely isn't the end. As always, I really appreciate reviews.   



	3. Those who fear the night

Disclaimer: none of the characters belong to me. However, this particular storyline is more or less original.  
  
Chapter Three - - Those who fear the night  
  
  
The riots were unexpected and unexplainable, even to the gurus. There seemed to be no real reason for them, but since when, Dalton thought caustically to himself, did the earthbound cling to any sort of reason?  
  
After the king's passing, there had been a period of peace and security following the sorrow every subject felt. The king was a fair and wise ruler who would be very much missed. Pity went out for the girl Schala and even more so for the youngest child, who would spend his life without memory of his father. Dalton, in and of himself, had trouble sharing these feelings. The king had been his best friend - to him he was not someone's father or husband and it was almost ridiculous for him to be viewed in that kind of light.  
  
Right now, though, those thoughts were not prominent in his mind. As he stood on the frozen turf of the terra continent, his cloak wrapped around him against the driving snow, all he could think about was the patch over his face and the people who had given it to him. Pushing these things away as best he could, he looked out toward the earthbound village of Alghetty, his ill-fated destination.  
  
  
Shortly after the death of the king, strange things began taking place in the caves of the earthbound. At first it was a few isolated incidents of disappearance and an odd death or two that no one bothered to take seriously. After all, the earthbound were expendable. It wasn't until a full-fledged riot had broken out that anyone had become concerned.   
  
And that, ironically enough, was not the greatest problem that Zeal faced at the moment. For some time, the power of the great sun stone - the energy beacon for the kingdom of zeal, was beginning to wane. According to the guru of life, it's strength might be enough to carry them for another decade at the very most, but when the power was gone, he couldn't foresee what kind of fate might lay in store for them. Without the power of the stone, the enlightened would cease to be much different than the hated earthbound. The Queen had at first resorted to drawing on the power of the elements almost exclusively to fuel the needs of the kingdom, but that was exceptionally difficult, and the energy gained from the process hardly made it worthwhile.  
  
After hearing of the riots, the Queen had intended to dispatch an entire force of guards into the caverns to determine what had happened. Learning of this, Dalton insisted that he be allowed to travel with them. For all intents and purposes, he was still the general and high advisor of Zeal, with all the rank and privilege that the title entailed. The other guards stood around him now, robed in all the finery of Zeal, their weapons naked in their hands. Every eye watched him, waiting for him to move out, but Dalton was in no hurry. Moving his eyes upward, he surveyed what he could through the white veil of the clouds and falling snow.  
  
High above him hung the mountain of woe, suppressed by the great many chains that the enlightened had used to bind it to the earth. Once, long ago, it had been part of the floating continents of Zeal. After the first of the wars between enlightened and earthbound, when those without magic had been driven from Zeal, the reigning king bound the chains over the commons of the terra cave to forever remind the earthbound of their lots, to be trapped below while their rulers sought refuge from the frozen ages of the world on their paradise in the sky. The floating mountain told them every day of their servitude, their utter worthlessness to the grand purposes of the world.  
  
Looking up at the majestic figure, he couldn't help but feel more than a little pride. This was a symbol of so much more for him - no matter how dark his own past had been, he would always remember that he was part of a society greater than this. He could bear scorn among the enlightened because at the end of the day, he was still and enlightened. It was better to be permitted to scorn others, to realize that he was still superior to someone, than to descend again into the self -pity that he was used to.   
  
It was advantageous that his loathing for the earthbound was already so strong, given that it had been an earthbound swordsman who'd cost him his eye and the respect of all he'd ever cared for. As far as he was concerned, they could wither under the shadow of the mountain until there was nothing left of them or their damnable race.  
  
Deciding he'd stood long enough, Dalton rubbed his now-stiff hands and arms under his cloak as he trudged into the deep whiteness. Behind him he heard the surprised noises of the other guards as they hastened to meet his stride, but he ignored them and kept on.   
  
Leaving the fury of the wind and the snow was welcome for the first fraction of a second, until the overwhelming stench of the terra cave caught him. It was all he could do to not to cover his face against it and the stifling heat that tempered the air all around him. No respectable human could be born out of such rancid filth. No, it was all too clear to him that the people who dwelt here must not be human at all. They were beasts, if even that. Glancing around him, he could tell by the expressions of the guards that they all felt very much the same.  
  
  
The purpose of the mission was simply to secure Alghetty and attempt to find out what might have caused the riots and the bloodshed in the first place. There had not been any enlightened there at the time (most shared his opinions of the earthbound), meaning all of the violence had been between earthbound factions. Why the Queen and the council even cared, Dalton certainly couldn't say. He wasn't even completely sure why he'd come, except that he felt he should. It was an irrational notion that he was quickly beginning to regret, but by now it was too late to back out.   
  
There was something strange here... something nearly tangible that served to compound all his uneasiness as he made his way through the caves. He watched with no real interest while the guards confiscated crude weapons from some of the men - earthbound were not permitted to have them, save for short stone knives used for hunting - and questioned those here and there who had seen the riots directly.  
  
Blocking the horrible smell mentally was at the forefront of Dalton's mind, until a middle aged woman with matted brown hair and fewer teeth than she should have had came under interrogation. She was obviously reluctant to speak to the guards, but they gave her no choice. At last one of them resorted to casting a weak fire spell - not enough to hurt anyone, but certainly enough to loosen her tongue. After stuttered and shaking for a moment, words began to come a bit more freely.  
  
It... it was... strange, a'right... The ones that did most a' the killin', they was the ones who'd been diggin' one o' the new tunnels, lookin' for ways to find more fresh water stead a' always meltin' snow. Something about her demeanor caused Dalton to raise his head and step forward slightly. Not enough to startle the woman, but enough to be able to hear what she said over the other noises of the cave.  
  
When they come up from the cave, they was jus' swearin' an' an' ravin', not payin' no mind ta who they was killin'. Jus' madness. Jus' pure madness... The woman's eyes pointed sightlessly in the direction of the cave wall, her slender frame wracking now with suppressed sobs. She went on after while, recounting that most of the workers said very odd things as they murdered, almost as if each of them were arguing with themselves, almost oblivious to those who died under their pick-axes and shovels, or those who were trampled in the panic. After the massacre, the woman told them brokenly and at length, almost every one of them who had been responsible had taken their own lives as well. Those that hadn't were taken in by their families, and none of them had spoken or moved since the disaster had taken place.  
  
Of course, the guards went out of their way to check and double-check this story, eventually seeking out the few surviving instigators of the riot. As far as any of them could tell, the woman had spoken the truth. The two men Dalton visited personally sat as if in a trance, not responding to any sort of outside stimuli. Eventually he became frustrated and exerted a bit of his magic, hoping to startle them the way the guards had done to the woman, but it was in vain. They just looked on, their eyes not following him when he moved. To the outside observer, it would appear that for all intents and purposes, they were dead.  
  
  
This doesn't bode well. One of the younger captains, a tall, slender youth, said quietly to Dalton, having drawn him aside. Never in my life have I seen such a thing, nor can I say how it would have been possible for so many men to come under such a similar affliction. His eyes were deep with concern. Dalton only smirked at his superstitions.  
  
Has anyone been down this tunnel of theirs since this whole affair took place? When the man shook his head, Dalton allowed himself a wry smile. I'll go there at once. In the meantime, send someone back to Zeal for one of the old men. If anyone could fathom what has taken place here, it would be one of them. Normally during any incident like this, one of the gurus would have been there long ago, but they had all become very involved in their own affairs of late, Gaspar most notably. The guru of time had not been seen in a great many days, and no one knew for certain where he'd gone.   
  
At first the man had objected vehemently against Dalton venturing into the tunnel alone, but Dalton brushed him off easily enough. After all, he reasoned, he was an enlightened, not some half-wit savage of the caves. His mind was much stronger than that of any of the culprits in the attack, and he had his magic to protect him. Besides, if anything happened, the other guards would wait at the opening of the tunnel. If madness seized him, they could subdue him with their own spells. Not that it mattered, really. If he got out of hand, who would care much if he took the lives of a few more of these barbarians? Few would mourn such a loss.  
  
The captain, for all his protestations, gave in rather quickly. It would take a good deal of time for the council of Zeal to approve a search party to move down into the caves, and in the meantime, all of the guards would have to remain in this hellish pit - whereas, if Dalton were able to clear everything up in a few hours, there was a good chance all of them could be bathing away the stench and sleeping in their own beds come nightfall. Smiling smugly to himself, Dalton shouldered his still-drawn sword and made for the lowest level of the caves, not far from the entrance to the place of chains.  
  
  
The entrance to the new tunnel was blocked primitively with stones, a few spare planks and turned earth, but Dalton had no trouble opening it again. By the time he was done, most of the guards had begun filing down the unsteady ladders from the higher reaches of Alghetty . Not waiting for them to join him, he lifted his blade, retrieved a sputtering torch from a wall-bracket nearby, and made his way into the tunnel.  
  
Down inside the mouth of the passageway the air was both cleaner and cooler, enough so that he brought his cloak around him again. It was obvious that the tunnel had been dug in haste, since aside from merely being narrow, there were very few shorings and piles of broken stone and earth obscured the way in places. He didn't let that dissuade him. Since he was here at all, he would see this path to it's end. Besides, anything - even madness or death - would be better than dealing with the ensuing panic he couldn't help but feel when he was around any of the earthbound. Even the old woman set him on edge. Because his memories of the battle that cost him his eye were so unclear to him, there wasn't any one person he could pin his loss on. To his mind, they were all equally guilty and should all equally share in his hatred.  
  
Deeper and deeper the tunnel went, turning and twisting until he couldn't exactly say which direction he faced. The dankness became cold outright, as the flickering of the torch brought him neither warmth nor comfort.   
  
Just around the bend in the path, the tunnel widened considerably. Anxiously   
picking up his pace, Dalton stumbled slightly as his cloak caught on a sharp rock in the cave wall. The tearing sound startled him, causing him to turn sharply and almost drop the torch. Lifting his cloak to check for damage, he learned suddenly that it wasn't his cloak that had torn.   
  
Ever since his first recovery, Dalton had kept the eye that Belthasar had made for him. The crystal, always bright, was a beautiful thing to behold. He didn't often wear it, but kept it in a small silken pouch at his side. Belthasar had gone to such great pains to make it, acquiring the stone for it at great personal cost, so Dalton felt somewhat obligated to keep it with him. In some way that he couldn't exactly explain, he felt that the eye understood him. It was familiar, and used to him by now. By keeping it close, he felt less afraid.   
  
It was with horror now that he realized it had been the silk pouch that had torn. Panicking, he dropped to his hands and knees frantically to recover his lost treasure. But the eye was no where in the passage way. Starting forward, he stayed crouched low, one hand on the torch. His sword had been sheathed immediately after he'd discovered his loss, and he scrambled forward madly now, not bothering to check his speed or even look up until he was in the middle of the chamber. What he saw there gave him considerable pause.   
  
The glass eye, coming to rest in an uneven depression in the cave floor, was glowing. Or perhaps glowing wasn't exactly the right word. More accurately, there was a faint, bluish light coming from the ground underneath the eye, and it was simply being refracted through the crystal iris. Whatever the case was, it was highly disturbing. Making to quickly retrieve his precious eye and leave, Dalton stretched out his fingers toward the small orb.  
  
This one is better than the others...'  
  
More than they.'  
  
Untapped, unsung...'  
  
He could be useful...'  
  
Righting himself abruptly, he threw himself away from the eye and the light. For an instant he could have sworn that there were voices around him. What they'd said hadn't made sense - it wasn't like they had been speaking directly to him, more like he was a rude child overhearing words that hadn't been meant for him. Leaning back in gently and so very slowly, he reached out once more.   
  
We should take him. He could do much for us, give us what it is that we need, perhaps.' The whisper caused every hair on his body to prickle at once. It was a dark, horrible sound that reverberated inside of him, making him wish he could take himself apart and cleanse himself of it. All at once, the voices were louder. There must have been thousands, all of them speaking at once. Clasping his head in his hands, he cried out in desperation.  
  
Who are you?! What do you want?!   
  
There was no answer, only more jumbled sound from inside his mind, where he couldn't escape from it. From his dazed, broken perspective, it appeared that the air itself was thickening around him, rippling angrily in an attempt to trap or harm him. He had to get away, no matter what the cost.  
  
On that last word, he grabbed the eye from the fissure, ripping aside the patch and slamming it into place without a thought. As soon as he did, the world went black.  
  
  
Ollen70: I'm probably going to go back and fix this chapter later. Right now, I'm so tired that I'm sure I left out some fairly important things. I don't think anybody's actually reading this story, but I still plan to update it again pretty soon. If, by chance, you actually HAVE managed to get through it so far, please let me know what you think. Reviews are very much appreciated.


	4. When will I be free?

  
  
Disclaimer: The characters, setting, and premise of Chrono Trigger don't belong to me.  
  
Chapter Four - - When will I be free?  
  
There wasn't more than a second's delay between when Dalton opened his eye and when he bolted upright, whirling around in blind terror. His hair, having escaped from behind him, draped and flowed wildly around him. Absolutely everything that had happened in the caves was so fresh in his mind that even the most unremarkable sensations he'd experienced came back all at once, threatening to totally overwhelm him.   
  
Tentatively, gently, his fingers made their way up his face, barely daring to finish their journey. He didn't relent, even though he longed to, until he'd reached the leather of his eye patch, pushing it aside very gently. There was no mirror, but he could tell once he brushed the cold smoothness of the eye in its socket that it had been no dream, and that everything that took place in the caves had been real.  
  
He was about to pull the eye back out, but for some reason, his hands wouldn't carry out the order. He tried again, flexing his hand slightly, but nothing came of it. In confusion and terror, he watched his hand move back down to rest casually on his chest, the patch falling back into place on its own.   
  
What... what's happening...?  
  
It was then that he felt it, a reticent whisper growing stronger from inside of him. With it came a pulse of dread that shot straight down his spine, a black coursing secretion that forced him back inside of himself.   
  
The guru of Reason came across him several hours later, curled up on his side, his one eye wide open, but without any sign of life within it. Dalton saw him, but it was as if he was watching the event from a very great distance, forced to observe and unable to participate.   
  
x x x x x x x x x x x x  
  
Dalton found himself in Belthasar's company more in the next month than he could remember ever having done in the past, even after the loss of his eye. The old guru generally rambled pointlessly, talking with a sort of childish excitement of the matters that concerned him at the moment, usually of magic or science or some such thing that Dalton had no real interest in. For all that, Belthasar and the tired Nu who always accompanied him quickly became regular fixtures around him, providing him a small amount of comfort in their nearness.   
  
At times Melchior came as well - Dalton enjoyed those visits much less. The guru of Life rarely said more than a few solitary words at a time, and his sharp eyes almost never left Dalton's face for any long period. When he did speak, it was usually to question Dalton on how he was feeling, as had done at least once a week since the events in the cave. Though the old man never actually asked him about what took place there, it didn't matter. Dalton thought about it anyway.  
  
When he hadn't returned from the deep darkness of the caves, two of the guards had ventured down inside to look for him. Though he didn't remember anything after retrieving the eye, the guards had found him up against the wall of the tunnel not fifty paces from its mouth, a very considerable distance from where his memories of the event had fallen off. According to their reports, he'd been unconscious and his sword was unsheathed and in his hand.  
  
Wasting no time, the scholars and gurus had gone to the caves at once, determined to end the threats that the tunnel apparently posed to anyone, no matter their station. In no more than an hour, the tunnel had been walled up and guarded with magic, so severely blocked that many who had been there claimed that the old entrance now looked no different from any other rock wall. There was talk about digging another tunnel directly from the surface down to the same coordinates to provide a way for the scholars to study the phenomena that was still totally unclassified. It would keep any earthbound from venturing in unwittingly, and if the new tunnel descended straight down, a basket or transport apparatus could keep anyone from returning to the surface if they contracted what had been recently dubbed the terran madness.'  
  
Thus far, the Queen had staunchly refused these requests. In her address, she spoke of the recent happenings in a much more skeptical tone than most of those in the council. The power, she claimed, had not proven in any way to be benevolent, and it ought to be closed off for good. It was likely they would be opening a Pandora's box that they couldn't possibly be prepared for.   
  
Dalton thought of her with a strong amount of scorn, and though he couldn't say why, he also didn't care. Things were changing quickly, and all around him the great changes could be seen. Belthasar had started construction on a massive, winged device whose purpose meant little to Dalton, but he was enlisted to help the old man just the same, overseeing the builders, and he did so without complaint.   
  
It was an unpleasant, menial task, but it was better than being constantly confined to his room in the palace. The queen had given him free leave to recover from the ordeal, encouraging him to enjoy Belthasar's tutelage while he could. He knew as well as she did that he wouldn't be returning to active duty any time soon.  
  
Since his tasks required so little conscious thought, he soon found that he'd almost given it up altogether. His body seemed to know what to do without his involvement, so for awhile, he let it. After all, it was easier to live as a spectator - it was what he was used to. The real world was no place for him any longer, as the back of his mind always told him. It was better that he stay out of the way, just stepped aside for awhile and let things take care of themselves.   
  
Give in,' the thoughts whispered, as black and coursing as ever they had been. Give in and rest, and let your mind go. There is no need for you to hold it so tightly...'  
  
The thoughts disgusted and horrified him, as his hand had when it first disobeyed him. He raged against the ideas, burying himself in any activity he could find with all of his being. He found himself beside Belthasar more and more, doing his best to focus on every word the old man said, and pouring over the blueprints and designs whenever he had a spare second.  
  
On this day, Belthasar sat in a chair comfortably in the tower of the new aeroplane dock, leaning forward and calling out instructions to the Nu, who was doing its' best to follow the old man's instructions, scratching with a disproportionately large quill over a massive sheet of parchment. Eventually Belthasar gave up and snatched the quill away, tracing over the lines himself.  
  
The room they were in was of a new design. Metal walls hummed with power. Lights danced between the joined metal panels, flashing quietly in sequence. A great many of them weren't active - with the shortage of energy, this place could only run at partial capacity, but that didn't seem to bother Belthasar at all. He basked in the sunlight that filtered through the room's large windows, stopping every now and then to smile into it.   
  
Dalton wondered angrily how the man could be so content. They were already behind schedule on construction by almost three weeks. The dead-line was self-imposed, but Dalton resented that they did not adhere to it.  
  
As they worked, Dalton noticed little by little that the Guru of Reason divided his gaze between the parchment and Dalton himself. He was very discreet, and in fact it took Dalton some time to discover that he was being watched at all. When he did, it was a nagging sensation rather than any kind of awareness. Some part of him simply knew, and he did not question it overmuch.  
  
x x x x x x x x x x x x  
  
Each day, the power that sustained the floating kingdom was growing more and more faint. Even with the full power of the elements being channeled day and night in Kajar, it was not enough. The feel of magic, which floated in and over all things above the clouds like the air itself, was now only an oily shadow of its former self.   
  
The magical kingdom of Zeal was weakening. Who knew how long it would be until there was nothing left to sustain it, until the very continent fell back down to the earth?  
  
Queen Zeal sat alone on her throne, gazing out across the sky-scape below her. The palace of Zeal was perched on the peak of the mystic mountain, on the very edge of the continent, and from here she could look down onto the flowing ocean of clouds, soft and white and serene in their own indifference.   
  
Any more, she spent a great deal of time here, staring off into the nothingness. Morning was coming, rising gently over the untouched peace of the world. The matinal light was unmistakably beautiful, but it had been a very long time since she had found hope in it.   
  
Whether she was here, or cradling Janus, or reading to Schala out of one of the leather bound, gilded books the girl was so fond of, or conferencing with Melchior or Gaspar, or lecturing to the council, the impending doom around her was impossible to forget. On occasion, she ventured into the sun palace and stared at the golden stone, watching the flicker of perpetual sunset mar its brilliantly smooth surface. How would they survive, when that power was finally gone? How would her people survive, when the strain of drawing magic directly from the elements drove her mad or killed her? Would Schala be able to lead them? How could she wish was a terrible fate onto her beloved daughter?  
  
A throbbing headache pounded behind her temples already. Maybe she should go to Melchior for something before she tried to channel more magic this morning. She would be no good to anyone if she wore herself out completely.   
  
Rising from the throne, she walked through the eternally quiet halls of the palace, seeking out the chambers of the guru of Life. He wasn't there, but that was really no surprise. Melchior was never in one place for very long, driven as he was to solve all of the problems of the world.   
  
His chambers weren't locked, so she pushed the door open and milled about in the doorway for a moment. Inside, a great deal of plants sat opulently in heavy pots of bronze and gold and porcelain, covering window ledges and the floor. Several were suspended from the ceiling by golden chains, covered in white or yellow blossoms the size of her fist.   
  
What wasn't a mass of green and growing things was cluttered with curious bits of metal or the hammers of master craftsmen, mingled with charts and designs for weapons and other devices that she didn't recognize. Vials and bottles filled with white powders, shimmering and opaque liquids, laudanum, oily salves, and all manner of other tinctures were organized neatly on several bookshelves on the periphery of the room.   
  
Walking past his high oaken desk delicately on the way to the shelves, she noticed one curious item. It was a book with a dark green cover, inscribed with golden patterns. Melchior was a well-educated man, obviously enough, but books were more something she associated with the guru of Reason. Fingering its binding curiously, the queen turned it over in her hands, upsetting the quill and page of notes that were sitting beside it.   
  
The Fire in the World, and the Magical Implications of the Creatures Dwelling There, she read aloud, feeling silly. Melchior couldn't seriously believe in any of this nonsense, written by scattered old scholars ages ago, when Zeal was little more than a crude collection of villages. It was nothing more than ancient, unfounded myth, and she was more than a little surprised that the book was in as good a condition as it was.   
  
Though she had every intention of letting the book fall back on the table, she couldn't quite make herself do so. Without knowing why, she lifted the book and wrapped it in her shawl. Melchior wouldn't mind if she borrowed it, needing a new story to amuse Schala before she put the girl down to bed at night. What would be better than this book of old jargon? Perhaps that was why Melchior had found it anyway, as a gift to the princess. She and the old man were very close anyway - it certainly wouldn't be an unheard of notion.   
  
Satisfied with her explanation, she went on her way, quite forgetting what it was she had come there for in the first place. She pushed open the door and set off down the hallway briskly, determined to read over the story when she got back to the throne room. It wouldn't do for her to be unfamiliar with it when she read it to her daughter.   
  
So absorbed was she in her thoughts that she didn't even notice the figure by her side for a moment. When Dalton spoke to her, she started.  
  
I hope I didn't startle you, he said in a dazed, slightly out of place voice, his one eye watching her abstractedly. When she replied haltingly that he hadn't, a very subtle change seemed to come over him. All at once his eye fixed on her shawl where the book was wrapped, and he stood a bit straighter. I'm glad, then. His voice was smoother sounding, and vaguely upsetting.   
  
With an almost smug smile, he turned at once and went on his way, leaving her with a slightly disdainful, It was good to see you so well, your Highness. She stared for awhile at his retreating back, saying nothing.   
  
When the oddness of his behavior had passed, she went on her way again. There was no use speculating over Dalton's behavior, so she didn't try. Instead, she rested the weight of the book in one hand and glanced again out over the swirling clouds as she passed, her mind very far away.   
  
Ollen70: More should be coming soon. Thanks for reading, and reviews are always very appreciated. 


	5. Death of our innocence

Chapter Five - - Death of our innocence

Each day, the crisis worsened. Each day, the power that flowed in Zeal was fainter, harder to grasp, harder to wield. Dalton felt the sparseness in the air, drying his skin and making everything, lush and green though it was, seem parched. The windows outside his chamber were always coated now with mist, sometimes turning to ice in the absence of the power that kept Zeal safe from the frigid grasp of the atmosphere.

The city of Kajar was almost abandoned, due to the increasing cold. More and more travelers took refuge in the village of Enhasa, to the south of the greater continent, or fled to the palace itself, where the queen's direct channeling was able to be felt and the air less empty and silent. Few knew why Enhasa had fared so much better. Dalton's own foreknowledge lent a certain air of scorn, when he found himself faced with refugees from Kajar or the other more meager holdings across the continent.

Wrapped in cloaks and cowls, they trudged through the frost-coated meadows and past the slowly freezing lakes and rivers, always expressing dismay at the condition of their world. In the distance, Enhasa sparkled bronze and silver, still hanging fully in the sunlight above the sea of clouds. Belthasar had been spending a great deal of time there, as of late. Through his apathy, Dalton supposed he might have wondered why, had he not been so close in the company of the guru of Reason.

Here, you must feel this, the old man told him, having led Dalton past the tapestries and indolent fools who littered Enhasa's halls, spread out under soft linens and quilts of dazzling artistry. Once safely secluded behind the moving bookcases that protected his private holding, the old man held out a white silk cloth in aged hands. Grasping it irritably, Dalton immediately winced, nearly dropping the offering. The voices, now a nearly everpresent muttering in the more secluded reaches of his mind, rose at once to a cacophony, nearly deafening him. He reeled for a moment, barely catching himself.

What... what is it? The object, some type of stone, though Dalton had not yet uncovered the bundle, was not hot, in the physical sense. There was a sort of spark within it, though, that burned him just the same. Noticing Dalton's discomfort, Belthasar quickly retrieved it, unwrapping the edges just enough to display a ruby-like glitter of red, more true than freshly-shed blood. As soon as it was out of his hands the discomfort was gone, and Dalton longed to snatch it back from the old man. A strange, covetous need was gathering strength, and the voices murmured more cajolingly now, each speaking to that need alone.

Belthasar, at first without voicing a reply, passed the stone to the large blue nu that was never far from him. The creature clutched the stone indifferently, keeping its sleepy eyes on Dalton. Nu always unnerved him, but Belthasar had some obscure affinity for the things, so there was nothing to be done about it. Just the same, the desire to attack the creature and reclaim the prize had grown no weaker.

It's been in the vaults for a very long time, in fairly large quantity. A wonder no one's taken any sort of interest in it until now, but such is the way of things. Lifting a variety of fine, spidery silver instruments, the guru started toward a short gilded table, the only furnishing in the room aside from four garish statues of tall women clothed in little but their own hair. I can find very little writing that pertains to it - at least, very little recorded in any sort of comprehensible way. Several books of the fourth library in the palace make mention of a remarkably powerful red stone, though they say little more than that, as far as I've discovered.

The man's hands, though creased and worn, were deft. A smaller fragment of the red stone lay on the table, surrounded by the silver instruments like an egg in the nest of a very peculiar bird.

Not as powerful as the sunstone, here the guru's venerable brow creased, as if contemplating. At least, not the sunstone as it once was. Not on its own. Its true power lies in this peculiar ability... holding out his hand, the guru gestured ever so slightly at the stone. A thin line of fire drifted toward the fragment lazily, as if carried by a slow breeze. In the darkness of his own mind, Dalton scoffed. What did the old fool hope to accomplish?

The streamer of flame connected with the stone, and the voices grew louder. Silence...' they admonished him. Watch...and learn...'

Before he could question the voice, even in thought, the room erupted. Fire exploded outward from the stone, rivaling the greatest fire magic Dalton had ever observed. He threw an arm over his face as the conflagration consumed the wadded bits of parchment and oddments of cloth left carelessly on the table's surface. Beside him, the panicked Nu followed suit, flinging one stubby arm into the air, clutching the white bundle to its chest with the other.

Neither Dalton nor the Nu made a sound. The silver instruments listed outward drunkenly from the explosion, melted at impossible angles. Belthasar, far from silent, cackled with glee. Wiping soot from his round spectacles, the old man bounded from one foot to the next, nearly singing with delight.

Exactly as I expected! Exactly as it should be! With this, the power of the elements can be magnified ten-fold! Perhaps one-hundred-fold, even! When he noticed Dalton's face, set in a flat line, Belthasar squinted at him myopically. Don't you see it?

With a long sigh that still held fragments of patience, Belthasar gestured at the red crystal shard. Imagine, if this red rock could be made into something larger? Some means of amplifying magic, beyond what any one Enlightened could do alone? Melchior must be told of this!

Belthasar's excitement was contagious, though for a very different reason than the old man assumed. The darkness behind Dalton's eyes nearly gibbered, thrusting him into a corner of himself as it filled him, taking away his limbs and the awareness of his body.

But how do you intend to do such a thing? he heard his mouth ask, using the same inflection that he himself would have. What do you intend to build? Belthasar spoke on at length, but Dalton paid him no mind. Part of him wanted to rave at the old man, for not noticing what was becoming of him, but that part was so easily suppressed. How could Belthasar see what Dalton only dimly could? With a sigh that did not carry past his lips, Dalton sank down into the loneliness, to wait.

Zeal slouched forward in her throne, the weight of the crown and veils she wore feeling particularly great today. The wind that swept through the Queen's Hall was bitterly cold, befitting the whiteness that shrouded every window around her. The magical continent was sinking into the sea of clouds. Each day it fell further, and Zeal felt as if she were holding it in the air with nothing but her own hands.

Her head throbbed so badly that she couldn't bear to sit upright. Melchior promised to bring her a new elixir, one that might finally cure the headaches before they began, but she doubted if her luck would be as good as that. Channeling the elements for a long period of time took more concentration than any one person could be capable of expending, without serious consequences. Besides, any time Melchior spent away from his research was time that could not be spent searching for a solution to this increasingly dire problem.

It wasn't as though the kingdom would not survive, if the magic finally gave out altogether. If all of the Enlightened assisted, it was well within the realm of possibility that the kingdom could come to a gentle rest in the ocean without any complication, and without any risk of falling too quickly, but the problems such a resignation would create were almost greater than she could bear to ponder.

The Earthbound looked at them as an unnatural force - one to fear, to loathe... to obey. It might be possible to deceive them into believing that the magical continent had been lowered back to earth for a reason, but it wouldn't be long before they began to suspect the truth, and as Dalton could plainly prove, the wrong end of a sword meant as much to an Enlightened as it did to one without magic. They were not invincible. If descent ultimately led to war, the kingdom of Zeal could very well crumble.

Also, there was the matter of food, and of sustaining their fortresses. The great halls surrounded with glass were ideal for the sunny lands above the clouds, providing light and heat enough for all manner of plants. Magic could coax any plant into bearing more than it should, and without both sunlight or the magical powers they were so reliant on, the cities would starve. She would not let that happen, not if there were any other alternative.

If the people began to suspect the truth, revolt was as likely as outcome as any. If a noble thought to challenge her place on the throne, she would be little match for them in her current state, and to request the help of the others, in pulling enough magic from the earth to suit their ends, she might as well pass the crown into the hands of another herself. Such a weakness would be her downfall.

It was easy to think of the king, as hard as she tried to avoid it. In times like these, the seclusion felt a greater burden than the entire kingdom, held in the sky by threads that were spun from her own mind. When she could bear it no longer, she passed through the marble arches of the hall, into the relative warmth of the corridors beyond. Braziers and torches blazed to combat the cold, some prompted by magic and others fueled by plain oils.

The attendants scurried to dip and curtsy, as custom required, but each bow felt forced, perhaps scornful. Perhaps they knew, and this was their way of showing contempt. Whether it was justified, she felt herself bristle under their gazes, quickly demanding that they return to their places at once. It was with a certain vindicated pride that she watched them obey, all of them retreating without once reaching her eyes. 

Once in her quarters, she bolted the door before dropping all dignity and stumbling up the short stairway that led from the entrance. She collapsed on the brightly quilted bed, fighting the tears that came at the strength of her headache and the sheer exhaustion she felt overtop of it. She had been very careful to say nothing of the pain to anyone, save Melchior, though she knew that Schala suspected the affliction, and even Janus, barely old enough to stand upright, seemed to sense a difference in her presence when she was with him.

Taking a small vial from the gilded stand near her bed, she removed the stopper and breathed deeply. The sharp odor of the oils inside always helped alleviate the pressure, though never entirely. She lay back across the quilts, letting her heart still as the burning behind her eyes lifted.

Something had to be done soon - that much was horribly obvious. The question as to what was considerably more difficult, and time was growing short. Melchior and Belthasar were doing their best, working quietly and with confidence, but the loss of power within the kingdom was painfully apparent. Through all of her efforts to keep impending panic under control, she had sworn those who knew the truth of the change to absolute secrecy. The council would say nothing, she was sure, as long as she and the few scientists in Kajar with enough skill were the only enlightened strong enough to keep the kingdom intact.

The Sun Keep was now sealed and guarded by magical power and soldiers alike, which in itself was enough to inspire suspicion. With its power fading, she couldn't risk its accidental discovery if someone happened to stumble across it. With a sigh she sank further against the cushions, letting her eyes cross the distance of the chamber on their own.

The gilded bookcases, lining white, empty windowpanes, held tomes of old books recommended to her by Belthasar, and more than a few plants of Melchior's own collection. Since the death of the king, he commonly seeded cuttings from his plants, or from those he cared for in the palace gardens, and potted them for her.

Bright tapestries of gold and lavender, worked with the triangular seal of the kingdom, hung alongside and sometimes over the windows. She took special care to glance at these only briefly. The light was bright, igniting the pain in her skull in sharp flares each time her eyes lingered for too long. Glancing back toward her end table, she saw a golden watch and chain stretching behind a wine goblet and under a crumpled parchment. With shaking fingers she clutched the chain, drawing it closer toward her painstakingly. It clattered across the table as it came.

Gaspar's watch, though why it was here she didn't know. The dial hadn't been wound in some time, and the hands read 7:21, but it meant nothing to her. Why Gaspar had left this, she didn't know, and he came rarely enough that it was indeed a peculiar happening. Very few had seen him, as of late, though he'd promised her very directly that he would see to Janus's schooling, when the time came. Within a year, it would be necessary, and she was relieved that he'd thought of it. If, of course, a year from now that kingdom was still intact.

Letting the chain fall through her fingers, she lay down on her stomach among the quilts, closing her eyes but knowing that sleep wouldn't find her. It never did, when the headaches were at their worst. She ought to go find one of the gurus. If Melchior was preoccupied, perhaps Belthasar would be free, but she doubted it and quickly dismissed the idea. The old man spent nearly all of his time with Dalton these days. She was happy for that, if only because Dalton sometimes  
frightened her and it was comforting to know that such a responsible man was keeping him under close guard.

Eventually apathy won out and she lay where she was, doing her utmost to think of nothing at all and ignore the pain entirely. It seemed a promising idea at first, but a sharp knock on the door renewed the pressure behind her eyes.

Who is it? She cursed her own thin voice, wavering unsteadily as she sat upright. With frantic hands she straightened her veils and cloaks before she approached the portal.

The guru Belthasar sent me, majesty. I've something you might like to see. The voice behind the thick brass was Dalton's. Uncertainly she lifted the latch, unsure as to what she should expect.

Ollen70: an odd place to leave off, but the next chapter will be up soon (sooner than six months, I promise you that.) I don't know if anyone's even reading this, but if you are, thanks for taking the time. I hope you enjoyed it.


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